I cry about you
by Sandra S
Summary: Harm and Mac are dealing with Webb's death. S10 Hail and Farewell I. COMPLETE
1. Harm

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.  
  
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HARM  
  
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I step into my apartment and close the door, shut out the world out there. So many things have happened lately I don't know what to think.  
  
I know it was right to nudge Mattie towards her father but I didn't expect it to hurt that much. Things have been difficult sometimes - heck, most of the time - but somehow I can't imagine a life without her face any more.  
  
And the Admiral has retired. Retired! The Admiral! How can that be? Whatever anger I felt at him when I had lost the Navy for a while because of his stubbornness - my stubbornness... I can't imagine JAG headquarters without his gruff voice and sensitive advice.  
  
I can't imagine JAG without Harriet too but at the same time I'm so happy for her and Bud...  
  
And I am sorry for Mac. The reason for her backache nearly knocked me down. But I'll be there for her. I've promised that to myself. Often - too often - I wasn't in the past. I will be now.  
  
I walk over and flop down on the couch and my gaze falls on the letter laying there on the table. Now I won't have to explain to Sergei why I'd prefer him not to consider inviting Webb to his oh-so-often-postponed wedding.  
  
I stop. Literally and figuratively. Just stop. Not moving, not thinking.  
  
Clayton Webb, the man who rescued my brother, the man who saved my life once, is dead. Dead.  
  
Somehow, with all that happened, I have never realized this little fact completely.  
  
No more verbal duels over "need to know" things. No more secret information for my cases. No more hair-raising missions for the CIA.  
  
Missions? I swallow very dryly as I think about it. When was the last time Clayton Webb came and asked me to do something for him? Asked ME to DO something for him? Oh, we got into each others way more than once; we more or less stumbled into working with each other - or against each other - a lot... But for the life of me I can't remember a real MISSION since I saved his life on that freighter in Baltimore. Before that there had been plenty. Afterwards ... none?  
  
He just asked Mac. And took her away from me.  
  
I feel the old anger boiling again. I was finally - all right, yes, FINALLY, I'm not perfect, damn it - ready to give up everything and run screaming after her ... and he took her away from me. He trapped her in her DARN gratitude like so many men before.  
  
And he didn't stop there: Not only I'd lost the Navy but he got me fired from the Agency too. If Chegwidden hadn't taken me back I don't know what would have happened. And STILL Mac was out of my reach. And my pride forbade me to grovel for her.  
  
At least I had Mattie ... who I'd have never met if Webb hadn't got me fired.  
  
The thought is disturbing. Really disturbing.  
  
Having Mattie in my life has taught me a lot. About responsibility. About understanding. About the fact that it was maybe time to grow up. About the fact that despite my temporary hatred I am still in love with Mac.  
  
It can't be I OWE Webb for that, can it?  
  
Whatever effects his actions had it wasn't intended. He never spared one thought for my feelings, not more than I did... Except when he came and informed me that Sergei was missing, except when he bought him out from this prisoner's camp with two boxcars of wheat...  
  
With wheat who had paid for? And the flight to DC?  
  
I must admit, I never gave that question much attention, I mean ... it had sounded all so logical. Oh, Webb had marched in there in the deepest winter and oh, he had had some wheat standing around... I mean, he traded favors and Sergei was important because ... he had an American father? A fact that was an embarrassment to the Russian Government and the US Government was careful not to endanger their relations and rub it in? Somehow I never asked.  
  
Webb walked away that night before I'd regained my senses and afterwards there were so many things to do, to think of, to arrange and Clayton was out of the country again... I mean, he did me a favor, no doubt, but on the other hand I had just proven he consciously and intentionally destroyed the reputation of a close friend of mine and it is STILL destroyed for the eyes of the public because Webb won that round and kept it classified...  
  
I jump to my feet and practically run to the fridge and for something cold to drink.  
  
It can't be I owed Webb despite the fact that he took Mac away from me.  
  
But how many times I actually acknowledged that I did ... up to the next millennium? I remember quite a few occasions. Oh, God, when was the last time I did him a favor? I - uhm -almost got him fired because I more or less talked him into giving me the tape of the Angel Shark. But it was his decision to take that risk.  
  
I saved his life in Paraguay together with Mac's - I did! And I could not have cared less about his injuries...  
  
I press the cold can against my forehead.  
  
I - I can't be such a monster, can I? I mean, he dragged the woman he later declared to be in love with - that I was ... am, AM in love with into danger and almost got her killed ... and on top of that took her gratitude away from me - I wasn't thinking that, was I?  
  
I didn't do it to get Mac's gratitude. I did it to get Mac. And although I might have sometimes been green with envy over the past year and sometimes my hurt pride really got the better of me I still want Mac. I - I want to be there for her.  
  
Webb had no right to step between us. Not after eight years. Darn it, we weren't friends but I always thought we respected each other if nothing else.  
  
Slowly I put the can down.  
  
Eight years? Sometimes it's so easy to forget that I've known Webb as long as Mac... And again I would have never met her if he hadn't arranged her transfer to JAG headquarters.  
  
This - this is so weird. Two of the best things in my life ... and somehow Clay was responsible for both. Nevertheless, we - we weren't friends.  
  
But if we weren't friends then why did your betrayal hurt that much? Why did it hurt that much that I paid two - forced - visits to your hospital room and avoided any further contact since? That I never even tried to hear your part of the story? God, I know best how easy it is to fall in love with Mac if you want it or not... Why did it hurt that much that I almost - almost wished you were dead?  
  
Darn it, Webb, if we weren't friends then why did you do the things you did? Like rescuing Sergei? Like giving information to me despite the risks? Like never again putting my life on the line?  
  
Kind of late for these questions, Harm, isn't it? The time for questions has passed. Clayton is dead. You will never get answers. Not anymore.  
  
Something is tickling my cheek and as I reach up I'm surprised to feel the moisture on my fingertips. I can't be crying, can I?  
  
But right now I would do everything - EVERYTHING - for a possibility to talk to Clayton just one last time and to ask the questions I all too late have started thinking about.  
  
For heaven's sake, I never wanted him DEAD! Not really. I just wanted ... Mac.  
  
But it's too late for regret.  
  
Now, all I can do, Clayton, is to cry about you. 


	2. Mac

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to DPB, Paramount, CBS et al. This is for fun, no copyright infringement is intended.  
  
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MAC  
  
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I step into my apartment and close the door, shut out the world out there. So many things have happened lately ... to me, to other people...  
  
Harriet pregnant again ... and with twins of all things! And AJ has left. He has left! Just like that. Left. And then the truth about my backache.  
  
I feel like a hundred years old as I walk to the couch, rubbing my neck. Now, not only my back is hurting but my shoulders too and the thought crosses my mind how good it would feel to just sit there and have Clayton's fingers soothe away the pain.  
  
I stop. Literally and figuratively. Stop. Stop acting, stop thinking, stop breathing.  
  
Oh no, Mac. No more backrubs. No more arm around your shoulders. No more heart to break. He's dead, Mac. Dead.  
  
Slowly I put a hand to my mouth. I have been so engrossed in my own problems and worries and sorrow that somehow this little fact has never got my full attention.  
  
Oh, I had been crushed. I had flashbacks. He and I and moments together like a damned movie playing out in front of my eyes. A movie you watch and think "gosh, how sad", maybe shed some tears ... and forget afterwards.  
  
Hello, Mac, this is reality speaking. No movie here. No happy ending. Just this little fact: He is dead. Dead because of you.  
  
Yes, dead because of me.  
  
One more man destroyed because of me. Standard procedure but nevertheless horribly different this time. So horribly different. Because this time it's true.  
  
Somehow any DARN man in my life seems to fall in love with me if I want it or not. And I affected them all.  
  
Eddie is dead because of an accident. In a way I am responsible for that but I'm not in an other. I was drunk, yes. But I wasn't driving.  
  
Chris is dead because the gun we were fighting for went off. And although the weapon was in my hand it really was more another tragic accident than anything else.  
  
Dalton is dead because this crazy stalker killed him. Oh, it was because of me, no doubt, but was I responsible this lunatic did what he did? No. No, I felt guilty, terribly guilty but I will not put that shoe on my foot.  
  
What happened between John Farrow and I was a mistake. But it was mutual. And we both accepted our responsibility.  
  
Nothing ever happened with AJ. I disappointed him too soon to let that mistake happen again.  
  
Neither Mark nor Alexei are counting. They may have a crush on me but that's all. So my curse doesn't work on them although Mark was shot once ... well, not exactly because of me. But I made Alexei drive through a war zone.  
  
Mic. Mic isn't dead but I did a really good job of breaking his heart. Now, from a distance, I understand his decision to walk away without looking back.  
  
And Harm ... what can I say about Harm? That I broke his heart or that he broke mine? Harm is the one constant in my life. No other man has told me so many ugly and hurtful things, has stamped my personal and professional confidence in the dirt so often. No other man has so often been there for me when I needed him. As he has been now. He seems even willing to put up with the truth about my backache. But why now, Harm? Why now?!  
  
Oh God, all these men in my life. So much guilt to deal with. Nevertheless, if I tried hard I can always console myself that it hadn't been ENTIRELY my fault. That they had all been grown up, matured men - more or less - that they had known what they were doing, good or bad.  
  
But Clayton ... Clayton I let down.  
  
Clayton has been the only man who really needed me.  
  
How ironic. His first confession was the words "I need you" and I bet he didn't know at that time how true that was. He needed me. But I wasn't there. I didn't want to.  
  
As always I wanted everything on my conditions. I always wanted those men in my life to read my mind, to read my soul, to accept me as I am - and failed so terribly when it was my turn.  
  
I rest my hand on the back of the couch, remembering how he sat there in front of that damn bottle, silently screaming for help but I refused to listen. Darn it, he knows - knew my past, probably knew more details than I'd feel comfortable with and bringing a bottle of alcohol in the apartment of an alcoholic, in my apartment ... had been so far out of the line I should have noticed. I should have noticed that it was the nearest a man like Clayton would ever come to begging for help as he could.  
  
He had reached out his hand and I pushed it aside.  
  
I had been too wound up in my own problems to pay attention. Paraguay and its aftermath wasn't just MY personal hellhole. It was his too. But whenever we came across this topic somehow it had always been about my feelings, my emotional injuries ... and not his. The same when I wasn't able to deal with the fact that I killed Fahd in cold blood - and that I killed him for Clay.  
  
He held me - or he didn't when I pushed his hands off me. He listened. He didn't try to solve my problems for me because he couldn't. No one could. But he was there. He was simply there and took whatever I threw at him no matter how mean or uncalled for it was. Or he simply walked out. Very seldom he hit back and he asked nothing or very little for himself.  
  
He just said he loved me ... too. He scared me to death.  
  
I didn't want to be in love with him. Not then. Anyone I have been in love with or have thought to be in love with has been hurt one way or another. And still, there was Harm.  
  
And I didn't want his love. Not then. I wanted his pity, his understanding, his arms around me and his shoulder to cry on. I wanted his body to feel alive again. I wanted all that because Harm wasn't there for me that time. Because Harm was nursing his wounded pride and self-confidence.  
  
Oh, God ... I wanted - want children, CRAVE them and the responsibility parenthood brings with it... And I haven't been brave enough to take the responsibility for Clayton's love.  
  
Responsibility, yes.  
  
He was a man on the edge and he knew it. Anybody has his breaking point ... and he had finally reached his. Paraguay just finished what Suriname began ... or maybe what he had done in Afghanistan. And I had been terrified to be the one to take his hand and pull him back from the abyss. Again and again and again - as Uncle Matt had done it during those weeks on "our" rock where I had struggled against my own daemons.  
  
I wasn't there to do that for him. Because I was too scared I wouldn't be able to win the battle. Too scared that his hand would slip through my fingers, leaving me behind with the responsibility for his death. And now I am responsible anyway.  
  
Was he drunk as it happened? I wouldn't be surprised. No, I wouldn't. It would have been the thing I'd done if nobody had been there to catch me in my fall.  
  
Yes, I think unconsciously Clay searched for the danger, the risk of going one step too far. Although he seemed to be better; he - he seemed to be normal ... caring ... just never around... Maybe he had just learned to hide it better. Maybe he had just learned to keep the things I didn't want to notice away from me from the start. Maybe he had just learned that I was not strong enough.  
  
Why - WHY haven't I done more?  
  
Oh, I told him I didn't like his job, his secrets. But did I ever tell him to give up the CIA before it destroyed him completely? Did I ever tell him that he had done enough, given enough? That he too had a right to rescue himself?  
  
No. I just pushed him away without letting him go. Because I needed him, isn't that cynical? How deep can you fall, Sarah Mackenzie, when it comes to the men in your life? I even told him that I loved him. I know he saw right through my lie ... this lie that has or could have -someday and unnoticed - turned true.  
  
I MIGHT be in love with him. My words. Fishing for Harm's reaction. I wasn't happy with the one I got. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Harm.  
  
But was I in love with Clayton? Wasn't I? I don't know what the truth is any more. And now it is too late to find out ... forever.  
  
A sob is shaking my body and for the first time I feel the tears which are running down my face.  
  
I would give everything - EVERYTHING - to see Clayton one last time, to have a possibility to tell him that he might - MIGHT - have been THE one after all. That I was finally ready to make the decision, that if Harm wasn't able to tell me how he felt just once and straight out ... maybe we have never meant to be. But again life has decided for me.  
  
I want to scream at the sky that I am sorry - so terribly sorry - about what I have done to you, Clay. That I used you as a substitute ... at first? That I betrayed your trust and let you down. I should have been there for you; I should have fought harder for you. But it's too late for regret now.  
  
Sobbing I sink to my knees, pressing my head against the back of the couch.  
  
It's too late for regret.  
  
Now, all I can do, Clayton, is to cry about you.  
  
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The End  
  
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Author's note: Thanks for the reviews. 


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